Meet Me at the Chapel
by allure000
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is an affluent 26 year old set to inherit his grandfather's company. After getting in some trouble, he is sentenced to 3 months on a farm for an attitude adjustment. Yuri reluctantly agrees, planning on getting through the sentence as quickly as possible so he can get back to his life. That is, until he gets to know the farm hand he will be staying with... [OtaYuri]
1. Chapter 1: Arrival

Meet Me at the Chapel

 _Yuri Plisetsky is an affluent twenty-six year old set to inherit his grandfather's lucrative company. But after being caught after a night of partying, his grandfather bails him out on one condition: that he take some time to rehabilitate in the country. The catch? If Yuri fails, he will be completely struck from his Grandfather's will and won't inherit a penny of the family business._

 _Yuri reluctantly agrees, planning on getting through the sentence as quickly as possible so he can get back to his life. That is, until he gets to know the farm hand he's going to be living with for the next three months..._

Chapter 1: Arrival

Yuri Plisetsky knew he was in trouble when the smell hit him.

Gagging, both hands flew to his face, covering his nose and mouth in an attempt to keep the violating stench at bay.

Next to him an old woman chuckled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "First time visiting the country?"

Yuri turned wide, angry turquoise eyes on the old woman. She laughed again and removed her wrinkly only hand from his shoulder. "Don't worry, young man, you'll get used to it."

Yuri considered, for a moment, opening the passenger window and throwing himself to his death off the train.

As soon as the train came to a full stop, Yuri scrambled off, elbowing other passengers out of the way so he could get his bag from the luggage car. His leopard print suitcase stuck out against the sea of other bland colors so he made it out in record time, aptly able to ignore the dirty looks he was receiving from the other passengers.

"What a shithole," Yuri grumbled under his breath, taking in the shabby, run-down station and extremely common-looking people. He could see fields spreading far and wide around the tiny town and though he hadn't thought it possible, the smell seemed to have gotten worse.

Exiting the station, Yuri flopped down on the only bench facing the town square and pulled out his cellphone. He growled to himself when he saw the blinking battery icon, but tapped his way to his call history and selected "Old Man".

"Ah, how was the trip, my favorite grandson?" his grandfather's voice chimed on the other end.

"Terrible," Yuri spat, sending a withering glare to a pair of elderly ladies walking near him. They scuttled to the far side of the sidewalk in alarm. "The train kept stopping for cows on the track and everyone acted like it was fine and they didn't have anywhere to be. And it smells like shit!"

"It's probably normal for them," Grandfather chuckled warmly, not put off at all by Yuri's bad mood or language. "I do hope you've been behaving."

Yuri scoffed. "Whatever. Look, my phone is going to die. Who is picking me up?"

"My old, dear friend Artem Babikov. You be polite to him, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Yuri glanced around the street before him, eyes drawn to the steeple of a church on the other side of the square. Only half the shops around the perimeter seemed to be in business anymore, with the other half boarded up and abandoned.

"Remember our agreement, Yuri," Grandfather's voice turned serious. "You will not inherit a cent of this company if you cannot endure at least three months there. Artem will keep me informed the entire time, so I better not hear-"

The line went dead and Yuri breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to endure yet another lecture about being well behaved on this ridiculous pilgrimage his grandfather sent him on.

All because he'd been caught _one time_ with a little too much to drink and a bag of drug paraphernalia. The drugs weren't even his, he was just drunk out of his mind and his friend who handed him the drugs had bailed.

"Tch, what a bunch of bullshit," Yuri muttered, leaning back on the bench and lacing his fingers behind his head. In the distance, he heard the sputtering of a vehicle and Yuri closed his eyes, wondering if there was anything in this dilapidated town that wasn't at least one hundred years old.

The chugging engine came closer and closer until finally Yuri cracked open one eye to see where it was going.

Down the short set of steps to the ancient street was the oldest pickup truck Yuri had ever seen. And coming out of the truck was an old man in a straw hat and overalls and he was waving at Yuri.

Yuri groaned. "You've got to be fucking kidding m-"

"Yuri Plisetsky! Hello!"

"No, no, n-"

"How was your trip?" The old man was hobbling up the steps, smiling kindly and reaching out a hand in greeting. "I'm Artem Babikov, a friend of your grandfather's from the old days. It's nice to meet you."

Yuri looked between Artem's hand and the old man's face, not hiding the disdain he was feeling. Eventually, Artem grew tired of waiting and grabbed Yuri's soft hand, pumping it in a forced handshake. "Your grandfather has told me a lot about you. We're so happy to could join us this summer."

Yuri retracted his hand, wiping it on his black pants and frowning. He managed to mumble something in return before Artem escorted him down the steps and to the truck.

"Just go ahead and toss that suitcase in the back and climb on in," the old man instructed.

"The... back...?" Yuri looked from the cab of the ancient truck to the open bed behind it and it dawned on him what was being requested. "No, no, I'm not putting my _Louis Vuitton_ carry on-"

"I'm afraid there's not room in the front, son, so just pop it back there and we'll be off."

"I _refuse_ to put my designer bag-"

"Come now, we don't have all day."

"Old man, I'm telling you-"

"Tsk, we're losing daylight Mr. Plisetsky, it will be dark by the time we arrive at this rate."

Yuri walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle, looking inside to verify for himself that there was, in fact, no room. With a groan, the blond realized that the old man was right- the area between the driver and passenger seat that his bag could have gone was piled high with old papers, work gloves, a tool box and various other miscellaneous items. "Can't you move that junk to the back instead?" Yuri suggested not-so-gently.

Artem pulled the driver door shut and fussed with his buckle, oblivious to the young man's torment. He looked at Yuri through the open passenger window, grinning mischievously. "No, no, this stuff is much too valuable. Come on, now, let's go! The sun will set soon."

Nonplussed, Yuri stared open mouthed at the elderly man for a moment before he swore under his breath and gently lifted his designer suitcase into the bed of the truck, tucking it as close to the cab as possible.

When they were finally on the road, Yuri found out the old man was also chatty. The windows of the cab were rolled down completely, so Artem shouted over the sound of the wind whipping by while Yuri fruitlessly tried to keep his golden hair out of his face. He gave half-hearted answers to the old man's questions, his grandfather's voice always in the back of his mind reminding him that Artem was going to be giving reports on his behavior. And as much as Yuri was hating this now, he wasn't going to do anything to prolong his stay.

After about thirty minutes, Artem finally turned down a long driveway and Yuri was able to see a two-story farm house at the end. It was old fashioned and in desperate need of a paint job; definitely not the luxury Yuri was used to by any stretch of the imagination.

"This is where you live?" Yuri asked, unable to keep the disdain from his voice.

Artem laughed and cut the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. The sudden silence rushed into Yuri's head, almost deafening him. He could see road dust swirling around the cab and gagged. "Oh, no sonny, this is where my farm help lives. The Misses and I have our own place up the road about a quarter mile."

Desperate to get out of the dirty cab of the truck, Yuri wretched the door open and stepped out. All around him was various fields, some with green sprouts popping out of the ground and others that were barren. A hundred meters from the house was a barn, the giant sliding doors wide open. Chickens roamed the grounds without any barriers and Yuri jumped when one came a little too close to him.

Artem laughed, coming around the truck to clap the young man on the back. "You ever meet a live chicken before, Yuri?"

Yuri sneered and brushed his matted hair out of his face, feeling the tangles between this fingers. "I prefer my chicken grilled, thank you."

"That can be arranged. Now, grab your bag and lets get you settled inside."

Artem ignored the cries of angst as Yuri pulled his dusty suitcase from the back of the truck and hobbled up the steps to the front porch.

Yuri, meanwhile, used the sleeve of his lightweight jacket to brush as much debris off his favorite suitcase as possible, cursing loudly at the state of his belongings. If this was an indication of how the rest of the summer would go, maybe he would be better off forfeiting his inheritance and trying to start his own business.

But for now, he was stuck. His Grandfather had taken all of his money and credit cards and he would have to earn his own ticket home if he wanted to leave early.

Artem gave Yuri a quick tour of the house, pointing out the out-dated kitchen, a small bathroom down a narrow hall, and gesturing up a set of stairs to indicate where the bedrooms were. He gave some quick instructions on how to contact him or his wife if Yuri needed anything ("This is a landline. Do you youngsters know what that is?").

Yuri's eyes soaked it all in, only half-listening to the directions the old man was giving him. He'd never stayed in a place so old before, his life having been spent in penthouses with a personal wait staff to attend to his needs. This place even smelled old, like rotting wood and fireplace smoke and peeling wallpaper.

 _Maybe this whole thing will collapse on top of me and I'll die,_ Yuri thought optimistically.

"Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you'd gone to."

The change in tone from the old man caused Yuri to turn and see what he was talking about. The sight that greeted him caused him to draw in a sharp breath and his eyes widened.

There, in the doorway, was a man. This man wore a set of denim pants and a blue button-up shirt, marred with dirt from working outside. His hands were gloved and he was in the process of wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist when his dark brown eyes locked on to Yuri.

"Yuri, this is my employee, Otabek Altin. He's been working for me for- how many years is it now, Otabek?"

"Four years," Otabek said and Yuri felt instantly intimidated at the other man's low voice, laced with a no-nonsense tone.

"Otabek, this is Yuri Plisetsky. As I mentioned before, he'll be staying with us this summer to get a healthy taste of the farm life. I'll leave him in your care." Smiling, the old man waved to Yuri, patted Otabek on the back, and left in a flurry of road dust.

Yuri felt frozen, not knowing what he should do now. From the distance, he guessed he had about an inch or two in height on the farm hand, but Otabek looked much stronger, his shoulders broad and filling up the doorway.

The silence stretched between them, Otabek looking Yuri up and down and glancing at Yuri's ecentric suitcase in curiosity. Finally, Otabek cleared his throat and spoke, "I have a few more chores I need to finish. Please make yourself comfortable until I return."

With that, Otabek spun on his heel and headed down the porch steps, the screen door clanging shut behind him.

Met with almost complete silence for the first time in twenty-four hours, Yuri stared for a long time at the empty doorway. As the full reality of the situation sank in, he shuddered. That farm hand looked so serious and strong… was he really safe in this situation?

Cursing his grandfather out loud, Yuri picked up his suitcase and started up the stairs, grimacing every time the old wood creaked under his footfalls. The top was narrow and he saw a relatively empty room immediately to the left. On the right was another door but it was shut tight.

 _That must be that other guy's room,_ Yuri concluded, before turning left.

The room had a full bed, a wooden dresser, and an old fashioned wardrobe. The rug in the center of the room was worn and old, but Yuri was relieved to see it was at least clean.

Searching carefully along the perimeter, Yuri exclaimed excitedly when he found an outlet. Plugging in his dead phone, he sighed and decided that a nice relaxing shower was the next thing on his agenda.

Opening his poor, filthy suitcase on the ground, he pulled out his toiletries bag and a fresh set of clothes.

Back on the ground floor, the bathroom was cramped and sighing in frustration, Yuri lowered the lid of the toilet to use as a shelf for his things. The sink protruded from the wall, rust stains in the basin from years of drips that went unfixed.

The clawfoot porcelain tub wasn't in any better condition. The blond pulled the plastic curtain aside, frowning. Despite the stains and oldness, everything appeared clean.

"What… the hell?"

Yuri stared in pure confusion at the antiquated knobs in the tub. Looking up, he saw there was a shower head, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how to get the water to divert.

Tired, dirty, and miserable, Yuri marched out of the house and across the yard, dodging chickens as he went. There was barely any light left in the sky, but the barn was lit up and he used that has his guiding force. As he stepped through the wide opening, he was already yelling, holding back the urge to gag at the potent animal smells of the barn. "Oi, farmer man! How do I get the bath.. tub… to…"

His voice trailed off, his mouth suddenly dry and stench forgotten. There on the far side of the barn, Otabek stood stooped over a pile of hay, pitchfork in hand, and sweat glistening on the bit of his smooth chest that was visible from the unbuttoned portion of his shirt.

Otabek spared Yuri a quick glance before continuing with his task of feeding the horses in the stall behind him, patting the beasts on their muzzles as they gratefully tucked into to the food.

Yuri shook his head, frustrated over becoming so easily distracted by the man.

And not just any man. A country man. A backwoods hick, probably. Yuri scoffed.

He was over all of this before he'd even spent one night in this dump.

"What were you saying?" Otabek had hung the pitch fork in its place on the barn wall and was approaching Yuri, steps steady and sure.

Yuri clenched his jaw for a moment, looking to the side so he wouldn't have to address the other man directly. "The shower."

Otabek nodded and moved past Yuri, lightly brushing shoulders on the way. Yuri turned and followed him, face flushing with embarrassment. He couldn't get a stupid pre-millenium tub to work and he couldn't seem to think straight around this stranger whom he knew nothing about. It was the most dysfunctional he'd ever felt.

He was angry.

He wanted to put his fist through a wall.

Yuri glanced up at Otabek's back, wondering quietly to himself what was wrong with the other man that he would want to be here. Could he be a criminal on the run? Maybe he was a weirdo who got his rocks off to murdering his victims and eating them…

"Here," Otabek disrupted Yuri's ridiculous train of thought, snapping him back to the present. They had arrived at the open bathroom door and Otabek stepped forward to kneel next to the porcelain tub. "It's a little tricky because it's old, but you'll get the hang of it. Just turn on both knobs and give the plug lever a little wiggle-" he demonstrated as he spoke, raising his voice a bit to talk above the loud flow of water. Yuri listened raptly, watching the strong, tanned hands work. "Wiggle the lever and diverter at the same time-" the heavy flow of water ceased and the stream began spurting through the shower head. "-and there you go."

When Otabek turned to face him, Yuri suddenly became aware of how tiny the bathroom was. Flushing with more embarrassment, the blond scrambled out of the way to let Otabek pass by. "Uh, thanks," Yuri forced himself to say.

Otabek shrugged and turned to leave. "I just have to put away a few things and I'll be in to make dinner." Then he was gone.

Yuri didn't watch him go, rather he stood glued to his spot in the hall. Scowling, he finally stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

If Yuri was thinking that a nice shower would help quell his sour mood, he was sorely mistaken.

Only twenty minutes in and all the hot water was gone, forcing him to rinse his soapy body in freezing cold temperatures. He cursed under his breath, shivering as he dried off with the thinnest towel he'd ever held in his life and put on some comfortable fresh clothes.

It took him another ten minutes to comb through all the tangles in his chin-length hair. Every time he hit a snag with his brush he cursed aloud, not caring who heard.

Another twenty minutes of fussing, moisturizers, and examining bags under his eyes, Yuri finally opened the door to the hallway. As he exited the bathroom, he was met with the sound of piano music coming from the kitchen, the tune laced with static. Grumpily, he padded down the hall, the runner on the hardwood floor absorbing the brunt of his footfalls.

Cautiously, he peered into the kitchen and saw Otabek standing with his back to him, stirring something in a pot on the stove. To Yuri's surprise, the other man also looked freshly showered and he was wearing lounge pants and a long sleeved t-shirt.

Otabek glanced over his shoulder at Yuri as the blond made his way into the kitchen, flopping down unceremoniously at the small table. "Is there another bathroom here?" Yuri asked, suspicious that perhaps Otabek was withholding information about a better shower.

"No," Otabek responded, turning back around to resume stirring. "I washed up out in the barn."

A pang of something- guilt, maybe?- tightened Yuri's chest. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. On the window sill above the sink, Yuri found the source of the soft piano music; an old radio with an antenna protruding from the top.

There was something oddly relaxing about the atmosphere and taking in a deep breath, Yuri did his best to try to let go of the tension he was carrying. After all, it wasn't Otabek's decision to drag him out here… Maybe Otabek hated it just as much as him.

This was his reality now. There was nothing he could do about it and it was going to age him more quickly if he held on to all of the anger.

Taking another deep breath, he inhaled the wonderful smell of the kitchen and let the crackly piano music fill in the silence.

"So," He finally said, watching Otabek walk to the old yellow fridge and remove a bottle of milk. "You've been here for four years, huh?"

Otabek glanced at Yuri again with an expression he couldn't quite place before returning to the pot on the stove. "That's correct," he finally responded, adding a bit of the milk to the dish.

When Otabek didn't make an effort to keep the small talk going, Yuri pouted and stood to his feet, walking over to look over Otabek's shoulder at the stove. "What are you making?"

"Vegetable soup," Otabek responded, reaching for some salt to sprinkle in to the mixture.

"Isn't it kind of warm for soup?"

"We need to use up the rest of the preserves from last harvest to make room for the new batch."

Yuri nodded in understanding, deciding that hot soup wouldn't be so bad. The season was still early so the nights were a little chilly yet. He watched Otabek stir the broth and bring the spoon to his lips for a test taste, arching an eyebrow in question. "Is it done?"

Otabek appeared to contemplate the question for a moment before dipping the spoon back into the soup and handing it to Yuri. "You try."

Both eyebrows lifted now, Yuri's surprise evident. He wasn't often asked his opinion on things so domestic. But he took the spoon handle and gave it a sip, still standing close to Otabek's shoulder.

As the broth passed over his tongue, Yuri licked his lips and handed the spoon back to the other man. "I think it needs cumin. Do you have any?"

Otabek nodded, gesturing to a cupboard above the counter. Yuri opened the door and dug around, eventually pulling out a little container marked "cumin".

"Perfect," Yuri said triumphantly as he took another sip. He watched Otabek stifled a grin, feeling more at ease at catching the brief display of emotion from the man for the first time.

Once dinner was on the table and they were digging in, Yuri felt his mood drastically improving. "So," he ventured, determined to get Otabek to talk to him. "Do you like working here?"

Otabek looked up, brown eyes piercing turquoise. "Are you interviewing me, city man?"

Yuri smirked, "Are you making a joke?"

Otabek, at last, let a grin lift his lips and Yuri saw, for the first time, how pleasant he looked when he smiled. "I do like working here. I like being alone."

Arching a brow, Yuri snorted and reached for a slice of bread on the table. "Sorry to disturb your solitude, farmer man. If I had it my way, I wouldn't be here either."

Otabek swallowed some of the warm soup, also reaching for a slice of bread. "You probably won't bother me. It's mostly nosy neighbors I don't agree with."

Yuri took a couple more spoonfuls of the soup before speaking again. "How do you stand the smell?"

"What smell?"

"You know," Yuri gestured vaguely. "The shit smell."

Otabek lowered his spoon, looking skeptically at Yuri. "It's really not as strong as you think it is. It's just different from what you're used to. You'll forget about it soon."

Yuri felt oddly comforted by this information. Otabek didn't seem the type to lie or deceive intentionally.

Both men ate until the soup was gone, along with Yuri's foul temper. Now that their atmosphere was calm and he was full, the blond felt much less bothered by the whole arrangement; and it helped that his new housemate was pretty decent to talk to.

"So what do you do for fun around here?" Yuri asked as Otabek carried their dishes over to the sink. He began running some water to wash them and Yuri watched, relaxed.

"I'm not sure what other people do, but I like to read," he said, coming back to the table to grab the empty pot.

Yuri snorted. "Boring. What about movies?"

"The closest movie theatre is an hour west of here. But the chapel in town has movie nights once in a while."

"Oh... What about online gaming?"

Otabek gave a light, airy laugh which made Yuri smile. "The Internet is... not the greatest for that. We pretty much can only check email."

Yuri was speechless. The look on his face prompted a chuckle from Otabek who turned his back to the room to get started on dishes. "You're not used to not having entertainment, huh?"

Yuri didn't answer. He watched Otabek's back for a while, envious of the man's broad shoulders, moving slightly as he scrubbed and washed. With a sigh, Yuri finally stood and walked to the brown eyed man's side, grabbing a dry towel off the handle of the stove. Picking up the clean dishes, the blond busied himself with drying, trying not to think about how bored he would be for the next three months.

"If it helps," Otabek broke through the silence, eyes glued to the soapy water below him, "There will be a summer festival next month. The town usually brings in entertainment and I've heard it's fun."

"You've _heard_? What, you haven't actually gone?"

Otabek glanced sideways at Yuri, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No, there's always been too much work to do here. But maybe we can get away now that there's two of us."

Yuri frowned, reaching for another bowl to dry. He detested small town gatherings and festivals. He much preferred the loud music and bright lights of the hottest city club.

But sneaking a sidelong look at Otabek's stoic face, he couldn't bring himself to say what he was feeling. Instead, he nodded agreeably. "Ok, that sounds fun."

Later that evening when Otabek insisted Yuri retire for the night to be "well rested" for his first day, Yuri retreated to his small, drab room and leaned back against the closed door.

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, trying desperately to look on the bright side.

At least he wasn't thrown in a rehab facility like his grandfather originally suggested. And at least none of his friends knew where he was to see his embarrassment.

And Otabek seemed cool. Though Yuri couldn't fathom being great friends with him or anything, at least he would make this shithole more bearable.

From across the room, Yuri saw something light up on the dresser and relief flooded his system.

He still had his phone! A connection to the outside world. He would at least be able to text and keep up with his social media presence.

Grabbing the cellphone, Yuri flopped back onto his bed, unlocking the device to see what he'd missed in the last twenty-four hours. But just when he was starting to scroll through his Instagram feed, an alert filled the center of the screen.

WARNING! NO SIGNAL!

Yuri stared at it until the screen dimmed to black.

The blond spent several minutes staring blankly at the ceiling, the phone forgotten on the mattress by his side.

Finally, he yanked his pillow from beneath his head, smothered it over his face and screamed.

 _AN: Thank you for reading this far! I'm sorry for any errors, I wrote most of this story on my phone_. _I was inspired by a Manga I read with a similar plot and thought Yura and Beka would be fun to write in those roles._

 _Coming up next : Chapter 2- Pushed_


	2. Chapter 2: Pushed

Meet Me at the Chapel

 _Yuri Plisetsky is an affluent twenty-six year old set to inherit his grandfather's lucrative company. But after being caught after a night of partying, his grandfather bails him out on one condition: that he take some time to rehabilitate in the country. The catch? If Yuri fails, he will be completely struck from his Grandfather's will and won't inherit a penny of the family business._

 _Yuri reluctantly agrees, planning on getting through the sentence as quickly as possible so he can get back to his life. That is, until he gets to know the farm hand he's going to be living with for the next three months..._

Chapter 2: Pushed

Yuri's second day on the farm was bad.

He cursed and threw punches when Otabek gently shook him awake at 5:30 in the morning. He yawned and stumbled through the chores of feeding animals and cleaning stalls, barely taking in the instructions the farm hand gave him.

The third day was worse.

Yuri's body cried out in pain and exhaustion, his muscles and joints sore from the manual labor the day before. He cursed and swore at Otabek while Yuri moved piles and piles of fence posting, rocks, and bags of seed. To Otabek's credit, he kept a straight face and didn't seem to take any of it personally. He would jump in when Yuri would complain, giving him some words of encouragement and help him finish the task.

Not that Yuri found that helpful when a particularly nasty splinter sliced open his palm from the fence posts.

The fourth day broke Yuri.

He was hot, he felt weak, his hand hurt from the splinter yesterday, and he just wanted to be done with his grandfather's ridiculous reparation.

"I quit," He announced, rocking back from his kneeling position to sit fully on the ground, defeated.

Otabek lifted his eyebrows at him from two rows away, his hands stalling. They were both crouched in a lettuce field pulling up the weeds from the moist earth. A light shower in the early morning had initially made this task easy, the weeds coming up by the root without an issue.

But it was mid-day now, the sun bearing down on their heads with a force of a thousand... well, suns. Not to mention the humidity. Yuri felt sick with the heat, his mind and body screaming at him to just end it.

"We can take a break if you want," Otabek offered, pushing himself up into a standing position and walking over to his housemate.

Yuri shook his head. "I don't need a break," he growled, frustration filling him. "I need a one way ticket out of here and to never see another fucking weed in my life. I'm done."

The blond jerked when he felt a strong hand on the back of his neck, not realizing Otabek was behind him. He whipped around as much as he could, swearing under his breath in surprise.

"Yuri," Otabek chided, his voice soft and patient like always. "Let's get you in the shade."

"I don't need goddamn shade!"

He sounded ridiculous and he knew it.

"You're overheating," Otabek stated sternly, touching the back of his hand to Yuri's cheek. "Come on, let's go."

Yuri stared wide-eyed while Otabek touched him, ultimately complying when the brown-eyed man tugged him to his feet and led him towards a tree line between fields. On the way, Otabek swung by the tractor, rummaging in an old box attached to the back until he pulled out a water bottle.

They were a ten minute ride from the farm house, so the shade from the timber was the best option to cool Yuri down for now. With Otabek's hand at Yuri's elbow, the blond allowed the man to guide him to a log in the shade and sat as directed.

"It's so fucking hot," Yuri lamented, intending to sound more angry than the pouty whine that actually came out of his mouth.

"Sorry, I should have been paying closer attention. But you really should have said something," Otabek gently lectured, kneeling in front of the blond and handing over the water bottle.

"Bleh, it's warm," Yuri muttered.

"Drink," Otabek commanded. Yuri drank. The seasoned farmer reached up to undo the top few buttons of Yuri's shirt. "I'm serious, next time tell me when you don't feel good. It's dangerous to overheat out here."

Yuri closed his eyes, tamping down the swirl of emotions churning his stomach at the feel of Otabek's skilled fingers working the buttons of his shirt.

" _You_ weren't complaining," Yuri muttered in weak retaliation, goosebumps erupting around his neck as Otabek pushed his sweaty collar off his skin. "If you can take it, I can too. You're not such hot shit, you know."

"I'm much more used to it than you," Otabek countered. Yuri opened his eyes a bit, feeling suddenly tired. The exhaustion from the week was hitting him like a freight train and he would have given anything in that moment to be in his cozy bed in his air conditioned apartment in the city.

Otabek frowned, the concern evident on his face. He moved closer, a firm hand gripping Yuri's chin and forcing the blond to tip his head to the side, opening up access to his neck.

The blond gasped when he felt Otabek's breath whisper across his skin, more gooseflesh breaking out across his visible surfaces.

"Did that help?" Otabek asked, voice worried and deep and close to Yuri's ear.

Yuri felt his stomach flutter.

He nodded and Otabek blew on his neck again.

Several minutes passed, Otabek kneeling on the ground in front of Yuri, alternating blowing on one side of his neck and then the other, his muscled abdomen bumping Yuri's knees.

Yuri could feel the oppressive heat starting to subside and the swimming feeling in his gut calm. The corners of his lips turned down, turquoise eyes glancing to the side. Otabek was always having to take care of him; treating his hand from the splinter, cooking food for him every night when he had to be just as exhausted as Yuri… And now here he was, preventing him from having a heat stroke in the middle of nowhere.

The blond tried to shake the feeling of guilt from his mind, reminding himself that he was a selfish bastard and re-convincing himself that he didn't want to be here.

When Otabek finally released Yuri's chin and withdrew, Yuri found himself searching those dark brown eyes for an answer for why the other man was working so hard to accommodate him. Otabek didn't ask to have Yuri here, didn't want companionship. He'd said as much the first night.

"Feeling better?" Otabek finally said, brown eyes not breaking away from Yuri's blue-green.

"I'm sorry," Yuri found himself saying, completely disregarding the question.

When was the last time he apologized for anything?

Otabek lifted his eyebrows in surprise, a facial expression Yuri was growing to like in particular. "For what?"

The blond sighed, breaking the eye contact. "I'm really shit at working like this and, besides me, you're the only person that is suffering for it. This was meant to be a punishment for me, but you're burdened, too."

It was the most sincere Yuri had been in recent memory. He tended to take up camp behind his foul language and belligerent attitude and it was rare that anyone saw anything else from him.

But Otabek was just so goddamn nice and patient as hell. It was infuriating and fascinating at the same time. And before he knew it, the genuineness was leaking out of him without effort.

Yuri simultaneously wanted to leave the other man alone to his peaceful haven of the farm... and also never wanted to be away from him.

He was surprised to feel a light push on the shoulder from Otabek, pulling him out of his thoughts. The tanned man was giving him a light smile. "Don't worry about it, Yuri. I was new here once, too. It takes time to get used to the daily grind of the farm."

"How are you so fucking nice all the time?" Yuri asked, his defenses automatically back online when he felt like he was about to fall into something deeper than his superficial emotions.

Otabek stood, offering a hand to help Yuri up as well. "It's tiring, isn't it? Being pissed off all the time?"

Yuri couldn't argue. He was exhausted.

Later that evening, Yuri could hear the muffled piano music playing on the old radio through the door of the bathroom. He closed his eyes, sinking himself further into the water of the bath Otabek insisted he take after his shower.

When the water was up to his chin, he focused his ears on the movements of Otabek in the kitchen. Yuri thought he heard some humming and he wondered if Otabek used to hum along to the music before Yuri came blazing into his life, uninvited, upsetting his peaceful existing on the farm.

 _I wonder if he hates that I'm here,_ he found himself pondering with a frown. The other man didn't seem like he had a single mean bone in his body, but everyone was capable of hate, weren't they?

As Yuri extracted himself from the bathtub and got ready for dinner, he mentally resolved to do better at not making Otabek's life a living hell while he was here.

Otabek looked up from setting the table when Yuri entered the kitchen, flashing a light smile. "Do you feel better?"

Yuri nodded, inhaling the delicious smell filling the kitchen. "What's for dinner tonight?" He asked as Otabek returned to the stove.

"Grilled cheese," Otabek responded, picking up a spatula to check to see if the sandwiches were ready to flip.

Yuri walked up behind the slightly shorter man, peering over his shoulder at the delicious looking food. He stood close because Otabek never complained about the proximity and it occurred to Yuri how strange is was that they fell into this routine in only four days.

Otabek drags him out of bed before the crack of dawn. Yuri complains all day. Otabek doesn't take it personally. Otabek makes dinner, listening to the crackly piano music through the old radio. Then they lounge in the living room until it's time for bed; sometimes talking, mostly reading.

Between all the first aid care and instructions on how to operate farm machinery, being in close contact had come naturally to them in less than a week. There was something nice about it, something Yuri had never experienced with another person before.

Otabek turned his head to look over his shoulder at the looming man and Yuri realized he'd missed a question. "Hm?"

"Do you like your toast rare, medium, or well done?"

"Ah, well done. I like the extra crispiness."

Otabek nodded and flipped one of the sandwiches, leaving the other to cook a bit longer.

After dinner, they washed up the dishes together and Yuri caught himself smiling when Otabek started humming to the piano music without realizing it.

"Oh!" Yuri exclaimed, setting a clean plate in the cupboard. "I know this waltz. I performed it at a competition once."

Otabek lifted an eyebrow, reaching deep into the sink to unplug it and let the water drain out. "You were a competitive dancer?"

Yuri laughed, suddenly embarrassed. "When I was a kid. My grandfather had me signed up for all kinds of things to help give me some culture. I preferred ballet, but ultimately they thought ballroom dancing would be a better image for the president's grandson."

 _Why are you telling him that?_ He chided himself. _You've never told anyone that before._

"That sounds like a lot of work," Otabek grinned. "I thought you said you were allergic to hard work."

Yuri finished up drying the clean dishes and putting them away, his cheeks tinted with pink. "I'm allergic to _outside_ work, I think that's an important distinction. Stop laughing!"

A little later, Yuri was flipping through a book of short stories on the sofa, wondering how many more days he could possibly go without the Internet before he went mad. Otabek arrived with the first aid kit, pushing Otabek's legs off the couch to prompt the blond to sit up straight.

Otabek took his usual spot perched on the edge of the old wood coffee table, their knees bumping companionably.

"How has it felt today?" Otabek asked, lifting the lid to the kit and digging around for some rubber gloves.

Yuri shrugged, resting the book in his lap and his elbow on his knee. "It hurts like a mother fucker, but that's just because of my 'city hands', right?"

Otabek chuckled and Yuri felt warm. "Sorry for that comment. This would be painful for anyone."

"Not you though, right?" Yuri winced as Otabek removed the old bandage, everything stinging despite the gentle way he went about it.

"Even me. But that's why I wear heavy duty gloves. Keep yours on next time, ok?"

Yuri hummed his understanding and blanched at the sight of the gash in his palm when the wrapping fell away. Otabek was frowning too, holding Yuri's wrist firmly and tipping his hand from one side to the other to inspect it.

"Looks like it's a little infected," Otabek murmured. As gently as he could, he brushed his thumb near a puffed up piece of skin, inhaling sharply when puss ran out of the wound.

Yuri bit back a whimper, thinking about his earlier resolve to be less of a burden. His hand ached, despite the gentle ministrations.

Otabek used his free hand to grab some gauze and started dabbing at the cut. He murmured apologies when Yuri would gasp in pain, his grip on the blond's wrist firm but not too tight.

When Otabek was satisfied, he reached for the tube of antibiotic ointment, coaxing out a liberal amount onto his finger tip to apply to the wound. "Since it's infected, this may hurt a little more than yesterday," He warned, glancing up into Yuri's eyes to emphasize his point.

"Ok," Yuri breathed, tensing.

Tears stung his turquoise eyes when the ointment was rubbed into the wound. Otabek blew on Yuri's palm to help ease the pain, his fingers around the blond's wrist absently rubbing circles into his skin to help sooth him.

"Jesus Christ," Yuri swore, covering his face with his free hand.

But it was over soon and Otabek released Yuri's wrist, grabbing a fresh roll of gauze bandages to wrap up it back up. "If I don't like the look of it tomorrow, we may have to make a trip into town to see the pharmacist."

Yuri just nodded, rubbing away the tears sitting in his eyes.

"You handled it like a champ," Otabek offered as he removed his latex gloves and packed up the first aid kit.

"Fuck off," Yuri muttered, leaning back into the overstuffed sofa. "You're treating me like a child."

"Well you are like fifteen, aren't you?"

Yuri narrowed his eyes at Otabek, following him with his gaze as the other man stood to take the first aid box back to it's spot in the bathroom. "I'm twenty-six you asshole."

He heard Otabek's deep laugh from down the hall and he struggled to maintain his rough persona, a smile threatening to lift his lips and ruin it.

"I know," Otabek confessed, returning to the living room and plopping down on the other side of the couch. "I'm just teasing."

Otabek reached for his book on the coffee table and silence stretched between them. Yuri quickly became bored and turned to face his housemate, leaning back against the arm of the sofa and drawing his knees to his chest.

"Do you ever get bored out here?" Yuri finally asked.

Otabek glanced up from his book. "Sometimes," he admitted, scooting down further into the couch and resting his feet on the coffee table. "But then I just dig around in the closet over there and find an old VHS to watch."

Yuri glanced at the closet on the far side of the living room, wrinkling his nose at the thought of watching something so old.

Some more silence passed before Yuri spoke again. "Have you ever tried waltzing before?"

Otabek tore his eyes away from his book, giving Yuri a curious look. "No, I haven't."

"Wanna learn?"

Otabek smiled. "You're that bored, huh?"

"If you say no, I'll go fling myself off the grain bin."

This time Otabek laughed and Yuri felt put at ease, even excited. He'd spent the last several years inside raunchy clubs and with questionable company, the polar opposite of sophisticated dancing, and the thought of trying it again was welcomed.

He hopped to his feet, his sore legs screaming at him to sit back down. But like much of the advice he'd relieved in his life, he ignored it.

Pulling the coffee table to the side to make more space, he instructed Otabek to stand beside him, demonstrating the appropriate posture for the dark haired man to imitate.

Yuri was secretly pleased to find out that while Otabek excelled at things like cooking, farming, and repairing broken things, he held himself awkwardly when learning the dance. The blond tried instruction from the side, humming through waltz that they heard on the radio earlier, giving tips and physically adjusting Otabek as they went.

"Here, this will just be easier."

Yuri moved to fill the spot in front of his housemate, resting a bandaged hand on his shoulder and slipping his other hand into Otabek's awaiting palm.

It was fine at first, Yuri thought to himself. He was doing this for fun, for entertainment, because Otabek had agreed to do it; It was not just because Yuri threatened suicide, but because probably on some deeper level he thought it would be interesting.

He reminded himself that those were the reasons, pushing away other thoughts creeping into his consciousness as they progressed in the dance, laughing at Otabek's clumsiness and the sheer silliness of two grown men ballroom dancing together in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn't because Otabek's touch was the gentlest feeling Yuri had experienced in recent memory.

It certainly wasn't because of how good Otabek smelled, his body wash mixing with the scent of outdoors and masculinity.

And it definitely wasn't because as they grew more confident in the steps and Otabek started humming along too, his voice flowed over Yuri like velvet, sending a chill down his spine to meet Otabek's hand at the small of his back.

 _It's just for fun_ , Yuri assured himself, pushing every other emotion down during their waltz.

When they were done and Otabek suggested they get to bed, Yuri hurredly agreed, wishing his companion a goodnight.

In the darkness and solitude of his temporary bedroom, he felt his cheeks flush hot at the memory of the dance and all the pushed back emotions came flooding to the surface. And as if by someone else's will entirely, Yuri couldn't stop himself from slipping a hand past the waistband of his sweatpants and losing himself in the superficial pleasure of release before drifting off into a troubled sleep.

"This is even more of a shit hole than I remember."

Otabek ignored the comment, moving the truck into a parking spot along the square. "I'm just going to run into the pharmacy real quick. Want to meet me at the chapel?"

Yuri suddenly felt buzzing in his pants pocket and he gasped, scrambling to pull his phone out.

"Yuri?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll meet you at the chapel."

Yuri missed the amused shake of Otabek's head, his face instantly buried in the hundreds of notifications popping up on the touch screen.

They climbed out of the truck, going in opposite directions. Yuri scanned through his Instagram notifications, scoffing at the ridiculous images of his fellow affluent 'friends' partying and posing with scantily dressed women. Suddenly he was just disgusted instead of envious and he switched to his Twitter feed to catch up on celebrity news and gossip.

When he arrived at the chapel, the front door was propped open with a folding chair and there were a handful of kids running around on the lawn. The sun was just starting to set, casting brightly colored rays across the ground as they filtered through stained glass windows. Yuri pulled his face out of his phone to look up at the beautiful steeple and, despite not being religious at all, he felt a sense of welcoming when he crossed the threshold.

Inside was tiny, but the ceiling was vaulted, giving the room more depth. There were a dozen rows of pews filling the center space, an aisle running up the middle to a small stage. A projector screen took up the front space for that evening and Yuri slid himself into the back row, awkwardly returning the smiles of the few elderly people chatting up front.

He felt Otabek next to him before he heard or saw the other man. "Those old ladies keep staring at me," he grumbled under his breath, barely looking up as he picked out which text messages he wanted to respond to.

"You're just new, that's all," Otabek said in hushed tones, sitting next to Yuri at leaving about six inches of space between their thighs. "Anything interesting happening in the outside world?"

Yuri snorted, quickly typing out a "go fuck yourself" to someone inquiring about "what happened" to him. "Hardly. People just want to know dirty details so they can gossip, they don't actually care."

Otabek did not respond. Instead he stretched his arms above his head and brought them down on the back of the pew, sighing as he relaxed.

Yuri stole a glance at the other man, feeling a jolt in his chest at his freshly shaven face and modestly styled hair. Usually Yuri only saw Otabek in his work clothes and lounge gear, but when his housemate recommended they get out of the house that Friday and come see the movie at the chapel, it appeared that he could clean up nice as well.

"Hey, Otabek?"

"Hm?" Otabek tipped his head to look at Yuri.

"Do you have Instagram?"

Otabek wrinkled his nose. "I have an account but haven't posted in years. They probably deleted it by now for inactivity."

Before Otabek knew what was happening, Yuri closed the gap between them, raising the phone and instructing Otabek to smile.

What Yuri got was a surprised expression on the brown eyed boy's face which he saved for himself. He lifted the phone again and this time Otabek was able to give him an easy smile, tilting his head to almost press against Yuri's.

Yuri scrolled through the lighting filters, throat constricting and heart racing while he did. Ahead, an elderly woman announced they would be starting the movie soon and kids started filtering in.

Yuri was relieved when no one sat by them

"What should the caption be?" Yuri whispered, glancing up at his companion.

"Oh," Otabek looked lost and shrugged. "I don't know. _Watching a movie_ or something?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "That's literally the worst suggestion I've ever heard, Otabek. You're fired from my social marketing squad."

He could feel Otabek chuckle, realizing that he hadn't scooted back to his original spot. And since Otabek wasn't pushing him away, he settled in, quickly captioning the picture " _Getting fresh air out in the country with a new friend."_

He put in the "at" symbol and typed in Otabek's name, scrolling through till he found an account called "DJ_Beka" with an avatar that looked like a younger version of the man next to him.

Otabek nudged his back, whispering close to Yuri's ear to get off his phone since the movie was starting. "Yeah, yeah," Yuri muttered, quickly tagging and posting the picture before shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Yuri only got through twenty minutes of the movie before the exhaustion from the week took over him. He wiggled low in his seat, crossing his arms tight over his chest, his eyes drifting shut. His head bobbed uncomfortably, breath catching every time he was startled awake.

He felt a pressure on the side of his head after several struggling minutes of this, guiding him to tilt and rest against Otabek's inviting shoulder.

 _Much better_ , he remembered thinking, the background noise of the movie fading into the distance. "Thanks, Beka," he murmured, feeling the vibration of the other man's hum in acknowledgement.

 _I don't remember the last time_ … Yuri started thinking. But before he could finish the thought, he lost consciousness altogether.


End file.
